Calling all skeletons
by MsEH
Summary: How far will Faith go to make up for her past mistakes? This is only a short chapter to start off, it will be Fuffy and only rated K for this chapter


_AN: This will be Fuffy and mostly in Faith's POV unless stated otherwise. I know this is only short, i'm testing the waters with this one._

"Into every generation a slayer is born"

Those words, she can't help but remember those damn words. They haunt her. That day, that woman, that hope that swelled in her heart. All seem like a distant memory now. She's not that person anymore; Not the slayer, not that she ever really was. She gave up that chance the day she killed her first human, the night she began associating with vampires, demons and a man hell bent on destroying the town of Sunnydale.

The room is cold, dark; a mirror of her heart perhaps. She can't help but chuckle at that thought, if she ever had a heart it was lost the moment she walked into this god forsaken town. She can't help but begin a slow rhythmic tap on the back of the chair leg she found herself slouched on, a frown settling as she attempted to mimic the beating of her heart.

"Still there?" The darkness did not reply. There was a time not so long ago when she would welcome the darkness, she had craved it. The slayer lived in the dark, stalking through the shadows and the memories of those laid to rest in search of those who were unable to find that rest. It was her job to send them on her way and she relished it, the power, the thrill and the inevitable fight before the familiar kill.

Killer; thats what she was now. A killer, cold blooded and it was that thought that kept her looked in this cold, dark apartment. She was no longer required to put the undead in their graves. He didn't want her killing his clientele.

Exhaling slowly the walls seemed to press in against her. It was those he dubbed enemies of his cause she was to hunt. Humans. A professor, an educator who seemed to have no supernatural affiliations was number one of his hit list of humans who were on his way. She wasn't a killer though, she had spent nights beating that into herself, recites the lines her watcher had spoken to her on more than one occasion.

"One girl in all the world, a Chosen one. One born with the strength and skill to fight the vampires"

Fight, not associate.

She couldn't help the shudder that passed through her body, the room seemed to grow impossibly colder at that notion. The rhythmic tap of her fingers ceased and all her worries weigh on her.

She's almost positive she isn't one of the monsters she has been associating with. Almost. That prospect doesn't sit well. Everything is not as simple as he makes it out to be. The smiles she forces are not as simple as she makes them out to be either.

A pain hits her. Emotional? No, it was physical this time. It hit her knee, lasting mere seconds before her mind is able to process the source. The cigarette she had idly been holding had burnt out, she had forgotten all about it. The ash sat on the fabric in a small pile. This is what happens when you have deep thoughts, you get burned. She hadn't even begun her musings about a certain blonde girl.

She flicks the cigarette butt across the room with a frown. Buffy Summers. She was in no mood to have 'Miss self righteous' creep into her thoughts. The Slayer. A quick swipe at her eyes did nothing to stop the telltale signs of an all too familiar ache that seemed so impossible to avoid when her blonde counterpart made an intrusion into her thoughts.

Buffy Summers, Queen of the Lemmings.

Removing herself from the chair she had been seated in for several hours she made her way to the punching bag that hung nestled deeper in the dark apartment and began a violent barrage. Unaffected by the pain that permeates down her knuckles..

Buffy Summers. Unaffected when those knuckles burst and split. Buffy Summers. Unaffected as the blood begins to smear and drip. Buffy Summers. Unaffected as it sprays from the offending leather of the bag. Buffy fucking Summers.

Seething. Her hands drop slowly to her sides. The steady drip of her life felling from the indented and ill-hanging bag. The steady drip of her life as it fell from her hands. She was all too aware of her laboured breathing as it echoes in her ears. Her chest tightens as she is assaulted with the ever present image of her former partner, breathing now erratic it takes all she has to get oxygen to her lungs. Great, felled by a panic attack. What a way for a slayer to go, passing out alone in an apartment and choking on their own tongue. The room now grows darker as she stumbles towards the last known location of her couch. A dazzling smile in the last image she sees before her body finds the soft relief of the couch and darkness consumes her.

The dreams were always the same. Sunnydale. Buffy Summers. Each and every time she awake in the same tiny cell and not a damn thing had changed. People were still dead and she was still the cause. Yes she was a killer, she had accepted it and now she was paying for it.

Light filtered through the steel bars of her figurative and literal prison. The air was colder than usual, she had adjusted to the chill after waking countless times soaked in her own sweat, a name on her lips and an emptiness in her heart. Today felt no different and the constant uneasiness settled in her stomach once again, before she had time to focus on her never ending misery the echo of cell doors opening bounced down the halls of cell block B. 6:30 Am. Time to start day 428 of her incarceration.

_To be continued._

**_AN: Let me know what you think and feel free to give suggestions._**


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